Turning Point
by pomegranate-stars
Summary: "Well, here he was with an armful of sleeping Greek. Well done, Sadik. What the hell was he going to do now?" TurkeyGreece. OneShot.


**A/N - So this idea has been kicking around in my brain for a while and I had to put it down on paper. Well, virtual paper. I imagine this taking place at some point in recent history, after the Earthquake Diplomacy, and I tried to capture the awkwardness and tension if such an exchange might take place. I hope you enjoy! :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, nor am I, by writing for this series, meaning to insult or stereotypicalize any cultures or peoples.**

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><p>~Turning Point~<p>

Turkey was pacing, muttering to himself darkly. This in and of itself was not unusual—the Turk was widely known to have a short temper and to be prone to random bouts of rage and maniacal muttering. However, if anyone had stopped to listen to Sadik on this particular rant, they would have discovered, to their surprise, that it wasn't a rant at all. More like… a conversation.

"Hey… Got ya somethin'." A pause. "J-Just take it, damn it!" Another pause. "Look, I know I hate ya an' all, but… Fuck." Turkey suddenly stopped abruptly in the middle of his pacing and dug in his hoodie pocket, removing a small, brightly wrapped box. He glared down at it.

Now, don't get him wrong. This meant nothing. He had simply been wandering outside in the sun, walking through an open air market when he'd seen the small figurine of a cat sitting innocently in the upper corner of a vendor's stall. He'd stopped and looked at the figurine—it was perfectly carved and made of Turkish pine, unpainted but so detailed it didn't matter. As Turkey stared at the little figure, and the cat stared back, a certain dark-haired nation unfolded behind his eyes, and before he knew it, he was thrusting twelve lira at the vendor, a sweet-looking teenage girl with large dark eyes. She smiled at him and asked a simple question: "Is this a gift, Sir? For friend or lover, perhaps? We offer gift wrapping."

Turkey's mouth had opened and shut and, to his utter and complete horror, a dark flush had crept its steady way up his cheeks to glow behind his mask. "N-No!" he'd snapped. "Why the hell would you think…!"

The girl had simply smiled. "I'll wrap it up nicely for you." And she'd put the cat figurine into a box and wrapped it in bright, shiny red paper.

So Turkey had brought it home and now here he was, pacing a rut in his living room floor, the heavy little package burning a hole in his pocket.

"Son of a… damn… fuck…" Turkey swiped his hood off and ran a hand through his hair, running it down to rub at his stubbled chin. What the hell was he thinking? He can't just… _give_ Greece a present, least of all something as pathetically sentimental as a carved cat figurine that some stupid salesgirl wrapped in shimmery paper. They _hated_ each other, for cryin' out loud! Loathing. Unadulterated loathing.

… So what was he supposed to do with it? Throw it out?

Turkey gripped the little box with sudden tight protectiveness.

For some reason, the thought of pitching the figurine into the rubbish bin made him feel sick.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), Turkey was spared the plight of decision-making any longer as his front door burst open and, as though his thoughts had conjured him up, in stalked the nation of Greece himself, trailing mud into the front foyer, an unusually petulant look gracing his features.

Turkey stared at him in flat out shock. After all, despite the recent Earthquake Diplomacy, relations between himself and the Greek were still tumultuous at best. It was nearly unheard of for Heracles to visit him without being forced.

"Yunanistan? What the fuck are ya doin' trackin' mud into my livin' room? I ain't cleanin' that up!"

Heracles ignored him completely and flopped down onto the couch, crossing his arms and tilting his head back, his dark eyes fluttering shut, and a great sigh leaving his body as he settled into Turkey's cushions. Turkey stared at him, completely nonplussed. The small box felt suddenly like a white-hot, lead weight in his pocket.

"…Yunanistan?"

"Tourkía. Shut up. I'm trying to sleep."

Turkey glared down at the Greek on his couch. "What… _Me_ shuddup? You're the one who burst into my house and decided to take a nap on my couch!"

Greece remained quiet and Turkey growled, stomping forward and grasping the Greek by the front of his shirt, dragging him up off the couch towards him. Greece did not fight him, simply hung limply, letting Turkey support his whole weight. He slowly opened a single eye and gave Turkey a lazy, irritated look.

"… Release me. Now."

Turkey leaned forward so his nose was touching Greece's. "Make me." He growled.

Greece opened both eyes and the two nations stared at each other, suspended in a kind of embrace, faces close enough that if either of them were to move just a little... Heracles sat up suddenly and Turkey moved back at the exact moment so the space between their faces didn't change.

"I asked you to release me, Tourkía." Greece said firmly, his eyes flashing. "_Please_."

It is the word "please" that surprised Turkey enough for Sadik to suddenly release him, allowing Heracles to fall back onto the couch with a thud. Greece glared up at him with a scowl, readjusting himself on the sofa. Turkey shook his head.

"Alright, Yunanistan, what the hell? Why all of a sudden are ya droppin' by to visit me without warnin', sleepin' on my couch, sayin' please? What's wrong with ya?" Turkey suddenly froze, a thought occurring to him that turned his stomach to ice. "Ya… Ya ain't… dyin', or anythin'?" Greece cracked an eye open and Turkey suddenly backtracked. "Not that I care! I'd be glad… actually."

He trailed off as Greece closed his eyes again, his snort a snort of derision. "Of course you would." Greece mumbled.

Turkey's hand found the box in his hoodie pocket and his brow creased. "Answer the damn question, Yunanistan."

Greece sat up straight, and gazed at Turkey for a long moment. "No, Sadik." He said quietly. "I'm not dying. Yet."

"Yet?" Turkey repeated the word without thinking. "Whaddya mean, yet?"

Greece shrugged half-heartedly, casually. "Things are not good. You know that."

"Yeah, but…" Turkey shifted uncomfortably. This was straying dangerously close to forbidden territory in their relationship of hatred. "Ya can't just… no one's died for ages! What about… what about that stupid ass Spartan background you're so damn proud of?"

Greece snorted and settled back on the couch. Turkey ground his teeth.

"Damn it, Yunanistan, tell me ya didn't just come over to die on my couch. Do ya know what kinda hell I'll catch if they find ya dead in my house?"

Greece chuckled lowly. "No, Tourkía. I just…" He trailed off, suddenly looking uncomfortable. Turkey raised an eyebrow.

"I had to… I wanted… Oh, shut up. I don't know why I'm here."

Turkey sighed and flopped onto the couch next to him. "Well…" He muttered gruffly. "I guess there's no reason ya can't stay."

Greece turned to look at him. "… Thank you."

Turkey ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah."

They were silent for a few minutes, sitting side by side on the sofa. Turkey's hand slid into his hoodie pocket and he fingered the box again. Biting his lip, he took a deep breath. "Yunan—"

But Greece was sleeping, his chin on his chest, his arms crossed, the worry lines on his face smoothing out, making him look younger. Turkey's breath left him in a whoosh and he rolled his eyes at his narcoleptic friend.

… Friend?

The thought made him clear his throat awkwardly, tugging on the neck of his hoodie. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. If Greece was sleeping… now was the perfect time to get rid of this stupid weight in his pocket!

Before he could chicken out (he was the former Ottoman Empire, after all. Former Empires didn't chicken out of anything.), Turkey slid the small box from his hoodie and slipped it into the Greek's jacket pocket.

As soon as the deed was done, Turkey stood up stiffly, unsure what his next move should be, and feeling incredibly awkward sitting next to a sleeping Greece. But as he stood there, looking down at the Greek, he found that he couldn't just walk out of the room and leave him sleeping like that, all sitting up and bent over. Turkey knew from experience that sleeping sitting up was extremely uncomfortable and the Greek would wake up with a horrible crick in his neck.

And he'd probably complain. And Turkey didn't want to deal with a cranky Greek—a pissed off Heracles was a pain in the ass.

… Yeah.

Turkey approached the couch, frowning as he pondered how he was going to go about this. Finally, he rolled up his sleeves and quickly slid his arms beneath Greece's neck and knees, hoisting him smoothly from the couch. The Greek's head lolled down and landed with a thud on his chest, causing Turkey to stiffen awkwardly.

Well, here he was with an armful of sleeping Greek. Well done, Sadik. What the hell was he going to do now?

Turkey turned and headed for the stairs, noticing with a frown how skinny Greece was. He was losing weight. Thinking vaguely of gyros, Turkey turned the corner into the guest bedroom and deposited his bundle onto the bed.

And then, of course, Greece's stupid long hair had to go everywhere, all over his face and Turkey wasn't just going to _leave_ him like that, all covered in hair. He may hate him, but the Greek just looked _stupid, _with his hair all in his face like that.

Carefully, Turkey reached down and smoothed back Greece's hair from his eyes. Suddenly, he realized just what exactly he was doing and he snapped his hand back to his side, backing away from the bed before turning and fleeing the room, muttering darkly.

Greece's eyes fluttered open and he reached up, gently touching his forehead, feeling the place where Turkey's fingertips had brushed only seconds before. With a sigh, he dropped his hand back to the bed with a thump and turned his head to look out the window, his thoughts whirling.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head, hard, as though to dislodge wayward thoughts and rolled over. The sharp corner of the box jabbed into his side and he sat up quickly, searching for the discomfort and coming up with the little wrapped box.

Greece stared at the box. The box, metaphorically, stared back. Carefully, as though afraid it might explode (and while Greece was fairly confident that the Greco-Turkish relations had progressed beyond bombs, a nation could never be too careful), he slid his finger beneath the tape and peeled back the uncharacteristic bright wrapping paper.

His eyes widened as he stared down at the perfectly carved figurine in his hand. It was beautiful, capturing the elegant grace and inner deviousness of the cats he was so fond of. As the Greek turned the figure over in his fingers, admiring the craftsmanship, the sound of heavy footsteps thudded up the stairs and, for reasons unknown, Greece's heart thudded. Quickly, he shoved the box and paper underneath the bed and, clasping the little figurine tightly in his hand, returned to his sleeping position.

The heavy spice of Turkey's scent hit him suddenly as the door creaked and footsteps treaded towards the side of his bed. A soft whump and Greece was suddenly cocooned in warmth as Turkey tucked him in. He fought the warmth roiling in his stomach at Turkey's awkward ministrations but couldn't stop the brief twitch of his lips into a smile.

"Haven't put ya to bed like this in years, Hera." Turkey's voice was barely more than a begrudging whisper, but the statement still shook Greece to the core. Such a casual reference to their bloody and angry past… the grudging affection in the simple nickname that Greece knew Turkey would _never _use if he'd known Greece was listening.

There was a rustle as Turkey turned to go. Suddenly, there came a noise that stopped Greece's heart cold.

_Crinkle_.

The paper—he must have missed a bit of wrapping paper in his haste and Turkey had stepped on it. Greece's breath hitched as Turkey froze. He kept his eyes squeezed shut—although the Turk surely knew he was awake now—giving Turkey an easy out. If Sadik just turned, just turned and left, they could pretend he was still sleeping and things could go back to the way they were, and Heracles could pretend that the thought didn't make his stomach twist unpleasantly.

A low chuckle interrupted his inner panicking. "Shoulda known ya weren't sleepin'."

Greece's eyes fluttered open a crack to reveal Turkey, standing with his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes flicking uneasily behind his mask. "Ya don't… Ya were fidgetin'. Usually ya don't… ya know, move a ton in yer sleep." He shrugged slightly, as though that would explain his knowledge of Greece's usual sleeping habits.

Greece opened his eyes all the way and sat up, fingering the small cat figurine. For a long stretched moment, neither nation said anything, the silence growing thicker by every passing second.

Finally, Turkey sighed and turned to go, to flee, to get away from the stifling, awkward, uncertain tension that blanketed the room like smog.

A slim hand on the back of his hoodie stopped him. Greece wasn't looking at him as he stared down at the figurine in his hand, thumb tracing over the finely carved features of the cat's face.

"Wait..."

Turkey didn't turn back. "What?" He asked gruffly, the roughness of his voice belying the uncharacteristic vulnerability he was feeling.

"… Thank you."

Turkey bit his lip. "Well, wasn't just gonna let ya freeze." He mumbled.

"No, Sadik."

Turkey's eyes widened behind his mask at Greece's soft use of his human name.

The Greek looked up finally, gazing with passive interest at the red flush tingeing the back of Turkey's neck. "I meant thank you… for everything."

Turkey cleared his throat. "Haven't done much…" He responded, shoulders tense.

"You were here when I needed a… when I needed a friend." And as Greece mumbled the words, he suddenly realized how much he meant them, how he'd been trying to say those very words when he'd stalked into Turkey's house not even an hour earlier, pissed off and in desperate need of company. "Thank you."

At the word "friend", Turkey had stiffened in shock, the features on his face shifting as though they weren't quite sure how to arrange themselves. Slowly, carefully, he turned back to face Greece, who had released his hoodie and was staring fixedly at the bedspread, his smooth face passive as ever, the only thing hinting at discomfort the crease in his brow and the quick, erratic way his thumb traced the feline in his hand.

"No—" Turkey cleared his throat, the first attempt at speech coming out embarrassingly strangled. "No problem." Quickly, he turned and fled to the door. Upon reaching the threshold, he paused, gripping the doorframe white-knuckled, before he spoke again. "No problem… Heracles." And he was gone, footsteps thudding down the stairs to the living room.

Greece sighed, releasing his death grip on the little cat and felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders.

Friends… Is that what they were?

"Is it, Kedi?" Greece paused, surprised, and chuckled slightly. "Kedi. Alright then. I'll call you Kedi." He placed the figure on the side table and settled back into the warm blankets that no matter how often they were washed, always contained a hint of the deep spice that was Turkey, and drifted off to sleep, slight smile on his lips.

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><p><strong>Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! There aren't enough TurkeyGreece interactions out there. :)**

**Translations:**

Tourkía_ - _Turkey (Greek)

Yunanistan - Greece (Turkish)

Kedi - Cat (Turkish)

lira - The currency of Turkey. Conversion to US dollars is roughly 1 Turkish lira = 0.5303 US dollars


End file.
